


Living in Sin

by Lint



Series: Damnation [2]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-14 22:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lint/pseuds/Lint
Summary: “I told you once, if she dare touch a hair on your head...”Just like before, he doesn't finish the threat.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Sabrina rolls onto her side, hand reaching across the mattress, and coming into contact with something that wasn't there when she feel asleep. Too big to be Salem, she peers through half lidded eyes, the outline of a slumbering girl before her. About to ask who, when the faint hint of honeysuckle hits her nose, and shifts even closer.

 

“Dorcas?” she mumbles, eyes falling closed again because her body just wants to sleep. “I thought...” She almost drifts off again, when a hand covers hers. “I thought you were going to try and sleep in your own bed.”

 

“I did,” comes the softly reply. “I was.”

 

She yawns.

 

“Guess it didn't take.”

 

Sabrina's thumb strokes along the skin of Dorcas' hand.

 

“I think,” she begins, pausing to yawn again. “I think I was dreaming about you.”

 

Sabrina smiles against her pillow.

 

“Oh?” she questions. “What were we doing?”

 

Her eyes don't have to be open to know Dorcas has her own smile to match.

 

“Flying,” she answers. “Under a beautiful blood moon.”

 

“Mmm,” Sabrina hums. “Sounds wonderful.”

 

Dorcas shifts her hand slightly, so that their fingers lazily entwine.

 

“It was,” she assures. “You were laughing so much. Such a lovely sound.”

 

Sabrina inches closer, feels Dorcas automatically do the same, until their foreheads rest against one another.

 

“So you were dreaming about me,” she states.

 

“I was.”

 

“And poof? You're in my bed?”

 

Dorcas giggles, low and breathy.

 

“Certainly appears that way. Do you want me to go?”

 

“No,” Sabrina insists quickly. “I mean, you're already here...”

 

She presses a whisper soft kiss against Dorcas' lips.

 

“It would be cruel to send you out into the cold night.”

 

Dorcas kisses her right back.

 

“So generous,” she teases.

 

Sabrina closes the last bit of space between them, bodies pressing together, as her head settles just under Dorcas' on the pillow.

 

“Keep dreaming of me,” she whispers.

 

“I wouldn't dare of anything else.”

 

/\

 

“Morning.”

 

Everyone is already at the breakfast table, when Sabrina wanders into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before taking a seat next to Ambrose. Aunt Zelda is reading the newspaper, held up to keep herself from being seen as she's wont to do. Hilda hovers over the stove, humming a song to herself, as she pours batter onto a griddle for pancakes.

 

“One of those girls slept in your bed again,” Zelda states from behind the paper. “Didn't they?”

 

Ambrose gives her a knowing smirk, while Hilda appears not to have heard, giving no reaction.

 

“Dorcas,” Sabrina informs. “She loves to cuddle.”

 

Zelda folds the paper dramatically in hand, eyes narrowing at her niece.

 

“Sabrina,” she chides. “While I fully support you embracing the more, enjoyable, dalliances of being a witch. I ask that some propriety still grace this house.”

 

Sabrina's eyes shoot to Ambrose, who has a fork halfway between the plate and his mouth, wondering just how many times Luke has popped into his room in the middle of the night. Propriety the last thing this house gets when they do far more than cuddle. She doesn't say as much, not wanting to throw her cousin under the bus. Something he immediately picks up on, grins, then focuses back to his plate.

 

“You make it sound so tawdry, Auntie Zee,” she voices instead. “Like she snuck in through my window for a midnight tryst.”

 

Zelda stares at her blankly.

 

“She was dreaming about me, and-” she snaps her fingers for effect. “I got to snuggle with my Dorky for the night.”

 

Still staring.

 

“Awe,” chimes Hilda, dropping a plate of pancakes in front of Sabrina. “I think that's sweet.”

 

“As sugar,” seconds Ambrose.

 

Zelda regards the three of them and huffs, pulling the paper up to cover her face once again.

 

/\

 

He lifts his pinkie when he drinks.

 

The very idea of it, father of lies, tormentor of souls, lifting his finger to take a sip of tea is amusing to no end. She must show something, because he's suddenly looking at her in the same way she must be at him, and it's an awkward stalemate for all of half a second.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

“What, what?”

 

“That look.”

 

Sabrina suddenly sits up straighter, the cup in hand rising to her lips far faster than she intends, tea inside splashing on her chin.

 

“There's no look,” she assures, grabbing a napkin.

 

His lips pull into a smile, that would chill anyone else to the core, but she's gotten very used to it by now. He lifts is cup, pinkie up, takes another drink but points the digit right at her as he lowers it back down.

 

“You're amused with the way I enjoy my tea.”

 

She smiles back.

 

“It's very posh.”

 

“It is.”

 

“And rude.”

 

“That too.”

 

“Well, well. The Devil is a snob.”

 

His eyes flash red for a second.

 

“Of all the things I'm accused, and guilty of, this surprises you the most?”

 

Sabrina picks a tea cake from the table, nibbles on it cautiously as she has no idea to the flavor, then devours it upon the realization it's raspberry.

 

“Good?” he teases.

 

She picks up the napkin and dabs at the corners of her mouth.

 

“Sinful.”

 

That earns her another smile, as she automatically reaches for a second cake, and takes a bite waiting for the subject of this meetings true intention to come around. (Not that she minds being softened up with tea and pastries.) He finishes off his cup, sets it down the to saucer with a clink, and folds his hands.

 

“I suppose you're wondering why I called you here today.”

 

“You mean?” Sabrina begins, blocking her mouth with her hand because chewing is still happening. “It wasn't for quality Daddy/Daughter time?”

 

“Always,” he gives jovially. “But-”

 

“But you haven't found Lilith yet, and you're actually starting to worry.”

 

He looks proud of her intuition.

 

“Yes,” he admits, eye twitching with a rage she would not want to be on the receiving end of. “I am... Very, very cross about it.”

 

He takes a sharp breath, and just like that, it's gone. Sabrina herself, feels oddly calm about any impending danger. Her own confidence boosted with the conjuring of hellfire. As well as the knowledge that she has her family, her girls, and the Dark Lord all on her side.

 

“You're taking this far better than I would have imagined,” he comments, after clearing his throat and straightening up in his seat.

 

“Me too,” she admits. “I should be scared. Or, you know, worried at the very least. But I'm not. I guess I just... I don't know, Dad. I mean really, what can she do to me?”

 

The concern on his face. Now that does make her worry. Because if Satan himself has cause for alarm despite the destruction his wrath can bring, it's something worth noting.

 

“Any way she could ever think to hurt you,” he states, voice dropping to an octave she's only heard with the head of the Beast on his shoulders. “Which I assure, is quite numerous in scale, would be unacceptable.”

 

Sabrina looks down into her empty tea cup.

 

“I told you once, if she dare touch a hair on your head...”

 

Just like before, he doesn't finish the threat.

 

“Darling, I'd rather just avoid the possibility at all. Stick close to your Aunts. Your girls. Try not to find yourself alone. At least for the time being, understand?”

 

She nods.

 

“Splendid,” he accepts, reaching for the teapot, and leaning across the table to refill her cup.

 

/\

 

The Sisters are waiting for her on the steps of Gehenna Station. Sabrina offers them a good morning smile, but quickly notices the morose look on each of their faces, slowing her pace and approaching them cautiously.

 

“Ladies?” she questions. “What's wrong?”

 

Prudence looks to Agatha instead of answering, and Sabrina sees the little squeeze Dorcas gives, with her arms wrapped around the raven haired witch. Now she's really concerned about what's going on.

 

“Miss Haversham hung herself over the weekend,” Prudence answers.

 

Sabrina gasps with the information, moving quickly to Agatha, and pressing a kiss atop her head.

 

“I'm so sorry, Aggie,” said softly against the part in her hair.

 

Gertrude Haversham, instructor of Hexes and Defense Magic, as well as Agatha's faculty adviser and favorite teacher. Dead by her own hand. Sabrina has questions to the why of it, eyes catching Prudence's who gives a little nod, the details will be forthcoming in a more appropriate setting.

 

“Father Blackwood canceled classes for the day,” Dorcas informs.

 

“Thank Satan,” Agatha whispers. “I don't want to be here.”

 

Sabrina crouches in front of her.

 

“We can go to my house then,” she offers. “All of us. Maybe my Aunt Hilda can brew something up to make you feel better.”

 

Agatha looks up at her then, before turning her head to each Sister, both nodding in agreement of the plan.

 

“Okay,” she accepts.

 

-

 

Hilda places a cup in front of Agatha, liquid hot and steaming, though it doesn't quite look like tea.

 

“There are you dear,” she says kindly. “When it cools down, drink it up. Every drop. While it might not pull the weight completely from your heart, you will definitely feel better.”

 

Agatha stares down into the cup.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Prudence and Dorcas sit at the table on opposite sides of Agatha, while Sabrina leans against the counter, Hilda coming to stand beside her.

 

“Poor thing,” she says. “I had a favorite teacher at the Academy back in my day. Mr. Locke. Only person in the whole bloody school who was ever nice to me.”

 

Sabrina places a hand on her arm.

 

“Oh,” she sighs. “Listen to me, feeling sorry for myself when it's Sister Haversham we should be feeling sorry for.”

 

She looks to her niece.

 

“Does anyone know if there was a note? A clue as to why she would-”

 

“Nothing,” Sabrina interrupts. “As far as anyone can tell. Her partner opened the closet door to get a jacket, and found her dangling there. No rhyme or reason.”

 

Agatha blows carefully onto the cup, then proceeds to drink it all as instructed.

 

“Tragic,” Hilda comments.

 

/\

 

Everyone at the Academy operates under the assumption that Hexes and Defense Magic will be canceled for the term, but there's an announcement made in the middle of the week, that every student in the class is to report there on Friday at the regularly scheduled time.

 

Sabrina and the Sisters all look to Agatha, gauging her reaction, and she does her best to keep from giving one. Hugging the books in hand to her chest, she sighs.

 

“We still have to learn,” she states evenly. “Don't we?”

 

Neither Sabrina, nor the other two, have a rebuttal and simply follow her down the hall.

 

Come that Friday several students are already in the classroom, talking among themselves as to why they're back, and all promptly hush when the four of them enter. Nick is there as well, at his regular desk, as the girls take their usual quadrant in the back left corner of the room. The conversations piping back up once they've all sat.

 

“Hey,” he greets Sabrina as she takes her seat. “You have any idea what this is about?”

 

Sabrina glances back at him, somewhat confused at the question. He's more likely to know what's going on than she is.

 

“My guess?” she replies. “We're getting a new teacher. Or do you not do substitute teachers here at the Academy?”

 

“Not really, no.”

 

Her brow creases in confusion.

 

“It's complicated,” he goes on off her look. “I don't think any other instructor here was as focused on their chosen subject as Miss Haversham. So it can't be someone we already know. And a witch transferring covens is a lot more involved than you would think-”

 

The students fall into silence again, as Sabrina quickly turns to face the front of the classroom, only to be greeted by a familiar face. Gone are the glasses and cardigan sweaters. Replaced by a black leather skirt, and matching jacket. Hair that was always pulled back into a ponytail or bun, now flows freely past her shoulders. Features that were only graced with minimal makeup, are now sharply accentuated by black lined eyes and ruby red lips.

 

“Miss Wardwell?” Sabrina is unable to keep herself from speaking aloud.

 

Prudence's head snaps to her, as do the Sisters.

 

“You know her?” she asks.

 

Sabrina is still stunned, so much that she almost doesn't reply, until she tears her eyes away and regards Prudence.

 

“From Baxter High,” she answers. “She was a teacher. My teacher. But I had no idea she was a-”

 

“Greetings class,” she announces to the students. “My name is Mary Wardwell, and I will be your new instructor for this term. Now, I'm aware of the tragedy that has brought me to you.”

 

Sabrina hears Agatha gasp softly, sees Dorcas reach out for her.

 

“But I'm afraid that I don't know any more details than you do, and will not be accepting any questions about my placement here.”

 

She leans back against the large desk at the front of the room.

 

“I will, however, do my utmost to educate and prepare you for life in this coven. For defense against those who would wish to harm you for the power you possess.”

 

She makes eye contact with several students, and Sabrina feels the hair on the back her neck rise when theirs meet.

 

“Why, is that Sabrina Spellman?” Miss Wardwell calls from the head of the class, playfully lifting a hand to her brow and causing everyone to turn and look to her. “How lovely to see you again.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Agatha is perched at the head of her bed, when Sabrina enters the room, book resting in her lap as she moves to flip a page. No longer surprised when any of the Sisters make an appearance at her house, Sabrina moves to drop her bag on a chair in the corner, Agatha focused on the task at hand having not looked up or acknowledged her at all.

 

Sabrina sheds her coat as well, moving to the closet to hang it up, then goes toward the bed. Leaning over, she places a kiss atop Agatha's head, right at the part in her hair, before sliding onto the mattress to join her.

 

“You like doing that,” Agatha murmurs. “Don't you?”

 

Sabrina leans against her, cheek resting on Agatha's arm.

 

“Well, you are taller than me,” she replies, eyes scanning the book's text. “So it's nice to be able to sometimes.”

 

Agatha lifts her hand to caress Sabrina's cheek with the back of her fingers.

 

“You're so sweet,” she gives. “It's almost sickening.”

 

Sabrina's eyes fall closed with the contact, a playful smirk on her lips.

 

“Said as if you detest sweet things,” she counters. “Like you, Dorcas, and Prudence don't secretly love it when I shower you with affection.”

 

Agatha turns head, just as Sabrina tilts up to match her gaze, a kiss shared between them.

 

“Not so secret with me,” she assures. “Or Dorcas.”

 

A slow grin pulls at her lips.

 

“But Prudence will deny it to her dying day.”

 

Sabrina knows this to be true. Imagining the girl on her death bed, hand held firmly in Sabrina's, telling her it's alright to say you love me. And Prudence, with her last breath, stating that she hardly even likes her. Agatha laughs, seeing the scenario play itself in Sabrina's mind, leaning down for another kiss.

 

“Exactly,” she states, before focusing back on her book.

 

They're quiet for a beat.

 

“Didn't feel like studying in the library?” Sabrina questions.

 

Agatha sighs heavily.

 

“Ms. Hatchet was having one of her episodes,” she explains. “Even the slightest noise would set her off.”

 

Sabrina watches as Agatha runs her nail along the length of the page before turning it.

 

“Like the sound of your fingernails scraping along paper?”

 

“Yes!” Agatha agrees with exasperation. “Sometimes books make noise. Who should know that better than a librarian?”

 

Sabrina nuzzles her gently, a kiss against her arm.

 

“Hmm,” she hums. “Slings and arrows.”

 

Agatha scoffs.

 

“Do you mock me?”

 

“Of course not,” Sabrina denies. “You're too smart for that.”

  
Agatha snaps the book shut, twisting to pin Sabrina against the mattress.

 

“Again?” she challenges.

 

Sabrina smirks at her.

 

“Why Agatha, whatever do you mean?”

 

Her hands close around Agatha's wrists.

 

“You're in my room,” she reasons. “On my bed. With a book in your lap instead of me.”

 

Agatha flushes slightly.

 

“I like to learn.”

 

“Anything in that book to teach you about picking up signals from your girlfriend?”

 

Agatha's bottom lip catches in her teeth, before letting her head drop.

 

“Next chapter.”

 

/\

 

Sabrina's eyes snap open, as she quickly sits upright, taking in a breath and realizing her entire family is staring down at her. A look of relief seems prevalent on each of their faces, as well as concern, and confusion.

 

“Hey,” she offers, rubbing at her eyes as if she'd just woken from a nap. “What's going on?”

 

“What's going on?” Zelda echoes incredulously. “You tell us. We come home to find you passed out on the couch, barely breathing, with no candles lit or anyone to watch over you. We're lucky it wasn't your corpse we came across. Soul taken to the Dark Lord by psychopomps, who appear to be conspicuously absent.”

 

Sabrina looks between each of them, trying to think of some fathomable explanation for the condition in which she was found, that she was indeed projecting but not in the typical way. Her father brought her soul to him for a visit, so she could see just how he went about his duties, without the bounds of belief his followers have.

 

That hell is not simply a pit of fire, where damned souls go to burn, but a much more complex and layered place with punishment doled out as it is earned. It was quite the excursion, and time must have slipped away from them. Because she certainly didn't plan on still being out when the family came back from the errands that were run. They're all still staring at her, and wow, she really can't think of anything to say.

 

“Well?” Zelda goes on. “What do you have to say for yourself? And don't you dare lie to us.”

 

Sabrina scowls at the statement, the anger rising within.

 

“I thought that's what we did in this family,” she remarks.

 

Zelda is caught off guard by the statement, while Hilda frowns, and Ambrose scratches the back of his head.

 

“I beg your pardon?” Zelda replies.

 

“Lie,” Sabrina continues. “About important things? Because the truth may be something someone decides is too much to handle?”

 

Zelda, Hilda, and Ambrose all share a look.

 

“Oh,” Zelda derides with a hand to her chest. “Is that passive aggressive little comment to mean you're finally ready to have the conversation we've been set to have since you defeated the thirteen?”

 

Sabrina looks down her feet, her anger no longer prevalent, and nods.

 

“How long have you known?” Zelda questions.

 

“The night of my Dark Baptism.”

 

Zelda regards her a moment.

 

“But you've suspected far longer.”

 

“Since my tenth birthday.”

 

Hilda gasps, then quickly slaps a hand over her mouth. Sabrina looks to her, to Ambrose, and finally on Zelda again.

 

“Does that mean something?” she asks, pointing to Hilda. “Because I'm talking about overhearing your conversation in the kitchen that night, about the Devil's daughter walking the Earth. Somehow I knew you meant me.”

 

“We did mean you,” Hilda assures. “At least, we thought we did. But then you-”

 

“Hilda,” Zelda warns.

 

“What?” Hilda retorts. “I thought we were finally having this conversation. All the sniping about lies, why would we still leave things out?”

 

Zelda doesn't comment further.

 

“You had a nightmare,” Hilda informs. “Terrible, terrible thing. No matter what we did, we couldn't wake you. Very theatrical and the like. Floating above your bed, shaking the house to the foundation.”

 

Tears begin to stream down Hilda's face.

 

“We couldn't wake you,” she repeats. “And we thought... That you would bring the house down.”

 

Sabrina notes that her hands are shaking. The tears don't seem to stop, and that Zelda too is crying now, while Ambrose stands there like a statue with his head down.

 

“You were ours,” Hilda insists. “Since the day your parents died. Our child. Our little girl. But this... _Incident._ Meant that, well, it just wasn't true was it?”

 

A sick, swirling feeling develops in Sabrina's stomach.

 

“I don't understand,” she says. “It was just a nightmare.”

 

“It was more than that, sweetheart.” Hilda presses. “It was-”

 

“Power,” Zelda finishes. “Raw, unfiltered power. Pouring out of you like a tap. Our bloodline is strong Sabrina, but that night was beyond anything we were capable of.”

 

“That's when you knew?”

 

“We suspected,” Hilda insists. “We always-”

 

“We knew,” Zelda cuts her off. “There was no denying it after that.”

 

Sabrina feels her anger coming back.

 

“And you never told me?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why?”

 

Zelda sighs.

 

“Because you didn't remember,” she answers. “That morning, on your birthday, you bounded down those stairs with such a smile on your face it was like nothing had happened. And you never once let on that you heard us talking about it. Or you.”

 

“And it never happened again,” Hilda steps in. “So we thought it best, to let sleeping dogs lie.”

 

Sabrina takes a moment to let that sink in. Plausible deniability, still denial.

 

Hilda chews on her bottom lip.

 

“At least,” she carries on. “Until that night you came in here talking about hellfire. But even then, you didn't want to talk about it.”

 

Sabrina nods. It's true. She didn't.

 

“Maybe part of me thought,” she ponders. “That if we did, it would mean, that I wasn't... That I didn't belong with you anymore.”

 

“That's ridiculous,” Zelda denies.

 

“Oh Duckie,” Hilda sighs.

 

“You're a Spellman,” Zelda states with authority. “I don't care who your Father really is.”

 

Now Sabrina feels as if she's going to cry, and bites her tongue a moment to keep herself from giving in.

 

“There's something else,” she says. “Edward Spellman was a vessel for the Dark Lord. The three of you were close, weren't you? You had to have known he was no longer your brother.”

 

“We did,” Zelda assures. “But only in the face his most extraneous act within this coven.”

 

Sabrina knows exactly what she means, but still needs to hear her say it.

 

“Which was?”

 

Hilda looks imploringly to her sister.

 

“Zelda, no.”

 

Zelda's gaze never wavers from Sabrina.

 

“When he married your mother.”

 

/\

 

“Miss Wardwell?” Sabrina questions, poking her head around the door. “Do you have a minute?”

 

She enters the office before an answer is given, but stays directly in front of the door, should her request be denied.

 

“Hello Sabrina,” Miss Wardwell greets with a smile. “Yes of course, do come in.”

 

She offers an open hand to one of the chairs in front of her desk, Sabrina taking the one on her left, and shifting the book bag into her lap as she sits.

 

“What can I do for you?”

 

“Nothing really,” Sabrina states with a smile. “We just haven't had a chance to catch up since you came to the Academy, and I thought-”

 

“Well, aren't you just a cup of sugar?” Miss Wardwell interrupts, leaning back into her chair.

 

Sabrina laughs a little at the statement, adjusting her own seat.

 

“All that time at Baxter,” she goes on. “And I had no idea you were a witch.”

 

Miss Wardwell steeples her fingers.

 

“That goes both ways, doesn't it dear?” she replies. “It's not as if we have a scent to suss each other out now is it?”

 

Sabrina smiles at the joke.

 

“I guess not,” she agrees. “But I am curious, how did you come to Greendale if not part of the Church of Night?”

 

Miss Wardell looks at her a long moment. So long that Sabrina begins to shift uncomfortably in her chair, thinking she's overstepped with the question, but then she rises dramatically from her seat and takes slow deliberate steps along the shelves that line the room. Running her fingers along the spines of books, she looks back at Sabrina over her shoulder.

 

“It's a long sad story,” she begins. “Excommunicated from my coven, I came this way looking for solace of all things. In a town where witches have prospered only a bit more than they've suffered. You'd be surprised, how many places there are in this world where that statistic is flipped.”

 

Sabrina's eyes go wide, and Miss Wardwell notices, smirking at her.

 

“Oh that face,” she teases. “What you must be thinking.”

 

“I wasn't-”

 

“Please. Let us not disservice one another with banal pleasantries in lieu of uncomfortable truths.”

 

Something in Sabrina's mind itches with how Miss Wardwell talks. How she acts. Nothing at all like the teacher she knew and loved back at Baxter. It's almost predatory. Like a snake slithering through the woods.

 

“I'm just surprised,” Sabrina admits. “That Father Blackwood would-”

 

“Allow an excommunicate, to set foot in this Academy, let alone teach in it?”

 

Sabrina adjusts the bag in her lap.

 

“Yeah,” she allows. “That.”

 

Miss Wardwell turns to her fully, placing hands on her hips, the image of a snake even more pronounced in Sabrina's mind.

 

“We had a nice long chat,” Miss Wardwell answers. “I can be very... Convincing when I want to be.”

 

Sabrina isn't wholly comfortable with how that sounds.

 

“Can I ask another question?”

 

Miss Wardwell laughs.

 

“I imagine, little kitten, you have dozens.”

 

The hairs on Sabrina's neck begin to rise, and all instinct tells her to get out of the room, but something stubborn within wants to know more.

 

“Who you were at Baxter,” Sabrina continues. “Does not, I mean, you're like a totally different person here. I guess I just, I'm wondering, if that was all an act?”

 

Miss Wardwell takes a step closer, shoes clicking on the wooden floor.

 

“In a sense,” she confesses. “For one to pass as Mortal, one has to act as Mortal, don't you agree?”

 

Sabrina nods. It makes sense.

 

“See Sabrina, my excommunication, had a lot to do with Mortals. I enjoyed them. Perhaps a bit too much for my covens liking. Running around like little bunnies, thinking they are every bit created in the False God's image. I found myself so fascinated I couldn't help but sink my teeth in.”

 

Another step, another click of her shoes.

 

“I have a question for you,” Miss Wardwell proposes. “Since we're having such a lovely conversation. Fair is fair, don't you agree?”

 

“Sure.”

 

She moves again with that click of her shoes echoing in Sabrina's ear, circling around the desk, middle finger trailing along the top of Sabrina's chair.

 

“How is it,” she begins. “That a sixteen year old half witch, who most likely had no idea hellfire existed let alone could be harnessed, managed to pull it off on her very first try?”

 

_Leave,_ Sabrina's mind shouts. _Now._

 

Sabrina leaps from her seat as if bitten, adjusting the strap on her shoulder, eyes darting to the door and wondering if Miss Wardwell will keep her from reaching it.

 

“How do you know about that?” she asks.

 

“My dear,” Wardwell placates, voice dripping with condemnation. “Word gets around. Did you think something so extraordinary could be kept hush hush?”

 

She doesn't move. Sabrina briefly considers making a run for it.

 

“You must be very special.”

 

“I'm not.”

 

Miss Wardwell scoffs.

 

“Uncomfortable truths,” she reiterates. “Even about ourselves.”

 

On the move again, that click making Sabrina flinch uncomfortably, then become confused when Miss Wardwell circles all the way round the desk and takes her seat again.

 

“You're a curious thing,” she gives. “A good teacher wants nothing more in a student. But I must admit, that I'm curious too.”

 

“About?”

 

“You, silly girl. You say you're not special, but you must be. I want to know why. I want to know what makes you tick.”

 

The harsh pronunciation of that last word makes Sabrina's hands clench on the strap of her bag.

 

“I have to go,” she says, fighting to keep herself from stuttering.

 

Miss Wardwell dismisses her with a flit of the hand.

 

“Of course dear,” she gives. “But if you ever want to chat again, my door is always open.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Sabrina bursts into the dorm room, pulling the bag from her shoulder and slinging it on the bed, as Prudence spins around ready to defend herself from this unforeseen irruption in activity. Her hands lower, once she sees it's Sabrina making all the commotion, ready to chastise the girl for giving such a shock.

 

It never moves past her lips, as the ire turns to concern, watching Sabrina pace back and forth across the room mumbling to herself and running a frantic hand through her hair. Saying her name garners no reaction. Neither does stepping closer. Only when Prudence reaches out to grab Sabrina's wrist, shouting her name to snap her out of it, does the girl finally realizes she's not alone in the room.

 

Sabrina instantly jumps into her arms, clinging so quick and strong, their positioning is somewhat awkward as Sabrina's temple presses into Prudence's collarbone.

 

“What?” Prudence begins, wanting to know exactly what is causing her to be in such a state, arms wrapping easily around the smaller girl as she holds a firm hand on the back of her head. “Is going on? Did something happen? You're... You're shaking.”

 

As if only recognizing that she is upon the statement uttered, Sabrina takes low quivering breaths into Prudence's shoulder.

 

Prudence continues to hold her steadfast, but is clueless as how to calm her down. Sabrina knows this. Knows that Prudence usually defers to Dorcas or Agatha for matters of empathy. But it's enough for the moment, just being like this. A moments relief with a girl she loves more than anything.

 

“Who's responsible for this?” she demands. “Tell me, and I promise to make them suffer.”

 

“M-m-m-” Sabrina stutters, trying to get the words out, but they refuse to come.

 

Something must occur to Prudence, because she begins to pet the hair held lithely in hand, and press soft kisses to the top of Sabrina's head. She's unsure just how long they stand there holding each other, but Sabrina is glad no one else comes into the room. Glad that her heart rate finally begins to normalize, and breathing become steady.

 

Sabrina lifts her head to meet Prudence's eyes, and is slightly taken aback by the anger she finds in them, as fingers lift to her cheeks to wipe some tears she hadn't realized were falling away.

 

“Tell me who,” she seethes. “-Did this to you?”

 

“Miss Wardwell,” Sabrina can finally answer.

 

Anger now clouded with confusion.

 

“I think she's Lilith.”

 

Anger, confusion, and the slightest speck of fear.

 

“What makes you think that?”

  
Sabrina's stomach drops with the recollection, though it was mere minutes ago, of feeling very much the prey in front of an apex predator.

 

“Because I,” she starts, swallows audibly and tries to gather her words. “I went to see her in her office. To say hello, you know? She was my favorite teacher back at Baxter, and I was curious how long she'd been a witch. If she possibly knew I was one, too. But...”

 

“But?”

 

“It never felt like I was talking to the person I knew. She was so...”

 

Prudence waits for her to continue.

 

“It felt like she wanted to _eat_ me.”

 

Prudence tilts her head.

 

“You're speaking literally?”

 

Sabrina nods.

 

“Like I was a mouse being dangled in front of a snake.”

 

Prudence's jaw tightens.

 

“Of course we won't let that happen,” she assures.

 

Sabrina smiles sadly.

 

“I know.”

 

For a moment they just look at each other.

 

“I think you need to contact your-”

 

She doesn't finish the sentence. A small part of Prudence still unable to wrap her head around Sabrina being the Dark Lord's progeny.

 

“I will,” Sabrina assures. “I just needed a minute to process. I just needed-”

 

She kisses Prudence, soft at sweet.

 

“You.”

 

/\

 

Sabrina stands in the foyer, listening on as the house is a bustle of activity. The Girls are all upstairs, placing protection wards on all the windows. Ambrose is in the basement doing the same, along with the morgue doors. Hilda has taken the south end of the house, including the kitchen and back door, while Sabrina herself was assigned the front and has currently finished.

 

Zelda walks in the from the parlor, cigarette holder on her finger looking a bit out of place when empty, as she reaches her hand out to test the magic on the door.

 

“Well done,” she commends. “I are dare say the Academy is actually teaching you something.”

 

Sabrina grins for all of half a second, before it quickly turns to a frown. Zelda notices and reaches out with a free hand to caress her cheek.

 

“Never a dull moment, is there?”

 

Sabrina ducks her head.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

Zelda regards her curiously.

 

“Whatever for?”

 

Sabrina shrugs.

 

“For, you know, bringing doom upon us.”

 

Zelda pulls the holder from her finger, slips it into a pocket, and places her hands upon her hips.

 

“Of course,” she agrees. “Getting the mother of demons on your tail, purely out of jealousy for your being born, is entirely your fault.”

 

A laugh escapes her, and Zelda smiles.

 

“You've done nothing wrong,” she assures. “And I don't think I've ever been so proud to have your for a niece.”

 

Conflicting emotions flash in Sabrina's eyes, as she steps closer to her Aunt for a hug. One that's interrupted by Hilda calling from the kitchen that there's a man among the headstones in the cemetery. She can hear Zelda gasp, she too realizing who it is.

 

“The Dark Lo-”

 

“Dad,” Sabrina cuts her off, pulling away. “Stay in the house.”

 

Zelda steps after her.

 

“The wards only protect the house.”

 

Sabrina heads for the back door.

 

“And he'll protect me.”

 

-

 

“She wasn't there,” he relays, sweeping away some dirt from atop one of the headstones, then turning toward Sabrina as she approaches. “But of course she wasn't.”

 

There being Miss Wardwell's house. Empty except for the immaterial trinkets leftover from a life taken. Sabrina feels a harsh ping of guilt for her part in Mary Wardwell's death, inadvertent as it was. That she was chosen for nothing more than proximity. A face that could be trusted. A life thrown away for small and petty reasons. It hits her then, that it wasn't just her own teacher that was taken, but Agatha's as well. It couldn't have been a coincidence, that the position Lilith took at the Academy happened to be vacant just when she needed it.

 

“You don't sound surprised,” Sabrina comments.

 

“No,” he admits. “But sometimes you wish something could be that easy for once.”

 

Sabrina leans against one of the headstones and folds her arms.

 

“So what's the plan?” she asks. “Look through every nook and cranny of Greendale until you find her?”

 

He sighs.

 

“One must do, what one must do, I suppose.”

 

For the umpteenth time, she thinks of their encounter at the Academy, and how she's never been so scared in her life. But when it comes down to it, Lilith didn't hurt her. She had ample time and opportunity, and whatever motivation she feels just, yet still let Sabrina leave when prompted. It's the one thing she quite figure out about this whole mess.

 

“Sabrina!”

 

Her name is shouted from the kitchen window, and she turns just in time to see Miss Ward-Lilith, rounding the back of the house. Looking fairly casual in the way she walks, as if she's not hellbent on making a meal of Sabrina, and curiously appears to be carrying a pie.

 

“Stay behind me,” her Dad whispers, and she nods her agreement.

 

A bizarre, if not out right friendly smile, never wavers from her face.

 

“Hello Old Scratch,” Lilith greets upon approaching them. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

Sabrina notes how her father stands to his full height, trying to establish a dominant presence, while she remains leaning against the grave.

 

“Lilith,” comes out in a clipped tone. “I've been looking for you.”

 

She beams at him.

 

“Well here I am.” comes the reply as she offers up the pie. “It's rude to show up unannounced and empty handed, is it not? Is that still a mortal tradition?” She looks to Sabrina then. “You, naughty girl, have missed several days of class. The other teachers and I are very concerned.”

 

“You're not Miss Wardwell!” Sabrina snaps.

 

“No,” Lilith agrees. “But I do enjoy her body.”

 

Sabrina's mouth hangs open, not expecting such a glib reply, the anger inside coming to a boil.

 

“You killed Miss Haversham too,” she accuses. “Didn't you?”

 

Lilith doesn't answer, nor does she deny.

 

“Why?” Sabrina questions. “Just to get close to me?”

 

Lilith smiles, slow and unnerving.

 

“How could you?”

 

“Oh, little kitten,” she coos. “I've killed many more for much less.”

 

Tears begin to stream down Sabrina's cheeks. The guilt, now bogged down with remorse and shame, squeezing at her heart.

 

“That's enough,” her Father states coldly. “You're upsetting her, which in turns upsets me.”

 

Lilith looks back to him with playful eyes.

 

“Yes,” she concedes. “You're just a bundle of emotion now aren't you? Tell me my King, what is it about this one that twists you up in knots?”

 

Her eyes flick back to Sabrina.

 

“By the look of her she's no more impressive than any of your other children. I dare say if it weren't for that whole hellfire business, she'd be even less so. Yet here you are, looking very much like a man we know you're not, doting on her with a Father's love.”

 

He turns his head to meet Sabrina's eye, and gives a mischievous wink despite the tension of the situation.

 

“Observant as always,” he allows, looking back to Lilith.

 

That was not a response she was expecting, Sabrina knows. Watching the playfulness drop from her face like a stone from someone's palm.

 

“Has if finally happened?” Lilith asks softly. “Have you gone soft?”

 

Sabrina sees his fists clench.

 

“Watch yourself,” he warns.

 

Lilith does not heed the warning.

 

“You've had dozens of children,” she states. “Hundreds. They all served a purpose, didn't they? To bring about an end of the False God's reign, but only ending up as sycophants or failures.”

 

“Not this one.”

 

Lilith looks to her, and Sabrina feels the fear pool in her stomach, knowing now real harm could come her way.

 

“Why?” Lilith demands. “What is so damn special about her?”

 

Goosebumps dot Sabrina's skin with the way Lilith regards her. Like a feast just waiting to be devoured.

 

“It's been a while since I supped on witch flesh,” she taunts. “Or perhaps the secret lies within the marrow of her bones.”

 

Sabrina jumps away in shock, as a pair of wings suddenly burst from her Father's back, stretching out into a protective barrier separating her from Lilith.

 

“You will not touch her,” he warns. “Or speak to her in such a way again. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Sabrina can't see her reaction, though not quite sure if she wants to.

 

“I could have hurt her,” Lilith asserts. “But I did not. Out of respect-”

 

“What about this conversation is respectful to you?”

 

“My King,” Lilith back pedals, tone lightening. “I just want to understand.”

 

“That's just it old friend,” he gives. “You can't.”

 

He steps toward Lilith, keeping his wingspan taut, Sabrina still blocked from her though she flinches at the scream and sudden flash of light. He turns back to Sabrina, wings spread and glorious, with hands crossed in front of him.

 

“My apologies darling,” he offers. “I didn't think you wanted you see.”

 

“See?” she replies, confused. “See what-”

 

Oh, but she does see. The remains of Mary Wardwell, nothing but an empty costume made of flesh, lying rumpled in the grass. Turning quickly away, she can't help but burst into tears. She feels her Father approaching, but doesn't turn to meet him, though still accepts the embrace he offers. His wings encircle her, a stray feather brushing her cheek, and never has she felt something to soft.

 

“I'm not special,” Sabrina says softly. “Everyone keeps saying that but-”

 

“Yes you are,” he interrupts.

 

“Because I'm your daughter?”

 

“That,” he concedes. “And, of all my children, you're the only one born out of love.”

 

Sabrina twists in his arms to return the hug, looking up to him with a sad smile, as he wipes away the tears.

 

“Your mother,” he offers vaguely. “Well, let's just say the Devil himself was unaware he could fall twice.”

 

Sabrina laughs brokenly against him.

 

“Daddy,” she gives softly and says nothing else.

 

/\

 

Sabrina laughs, watching her Girls fidget with their dresses, all brimming with nervous energy. Agatha reaches over to fix a ruffle in Dorcas' sleeve, while Prudence keeps smoothing out the material on the front of hers, each wanting to accuse the other of being less than perfect.

 

“Guys relax,” Sabrina admonishes. “It's just my Dad.”

 

Prudence scoffs, while Agatha and Dorcas look on dumbfounded.

 

“Just,” Prudence begins.

 

“Your,” Agatha fills.

 

“Dad?” Dorcas finishes.

 

Sabrina shrugs with a nonchalance each girl is envious of.

 

“To you perhaps,” Prudence concedes.

 

“But a god,” Agatha states.

 

“To us,” Dorcas gives.

 

She shakes her head in amusement, loving the oddly wonderful way they finish each others sentences, and sighs.

 

“Relax,” she reiterates, walking up to Prudence and kissing her softly.

 

“He's going to love you,” she continues, moving on to Agatha and kissing her too.

 

“Because I do,” she finalizes, cupping her hands on Dorcas' cheeks and kissing her last.

 

In a blink, the Dark Lord appears before them, wearing a smart looking suit with no tie.

 

“Hey Dad,” Sabrina greets fondly. “I'd like you to meet my Girls.”

 

They all curtsy with heads bowed.

 

“This is Prudence,” Sabrina offers with an outstretched hand, as she rises to stand up straight. “Agatha.” Who does the same. “And Dorcas.”

 

Sabrina takes her hand, who in turn takes Agatha's, and she takes Prudence's.

 

“Hello ladies,” he addresses them with a smile. “How lovely it is to meet you.”

 

 


End file.
